


Hospitality

by mopsi



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alien Sex, Carapaces, Other, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:29:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mopsi/pseuds/mopsi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone pays a visit to Spades Slick and his beautiful wife. Someone who is definitely a thing of the past. Definitely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hospitality

Spades Slick was uncomfortable. His little wife seemed to be anything else but uncomfortable. She poured wine in glasses, chippering as her chirpy self. “How i can be of further assistance!” she queried, eyes narrowing in smile.

"Quit fussing, madam," the quest smirked. Her way of talking was just smirking, as Spades so well recalled. She went so far as to pat the lady of the house on cheek. But the nerve. Spades went stiff and was ready to interfere, but Ms. Paint sat down between them, laying her hands neatly in her lap.

“How did you end in here in the first place?” she asked. She had first glanced at Spades and given her a frown: do not start dumb stuff.

“Paying a visit,” the guest answered. She tilted the glass, watching as the wine flooded to one side, then the other again. “He can offer me a guest bed seeing as he is the one… who sent me to jail in the first place.”

“Oh so you two are old aquaintances, Snowie,” Ms. Paint suggested. “Indeed. We were. Aquaintances is just the word. Do you two know each other, then?” Spades stared sharply at the two.

“Aquaintances, as in, we totally used to bang,” Snowman hissed to ms. Paint. Ms. Paint grinned and said: “Yes, we used to be…”

“Schoolmates.”

“Yes totally.”

“Who used to bang?” Spades asked suspiciously.

If he expected an answer, it was not his lucky day.

“Your suit looks glorious, Snowie,” Ms. Paint told her.

“Thank you, dear. Mind if I smoke?” The hosts didn't; Slick leaned in to light, bending from a different side of the coffee table than where Ms. Paint was. Mix of cigarettes and perfume. It hit Spades’s nostrils. He flinched. Snowman smirked, winking an eye. Spades didn’t dare to look at his lady.

The lady was cool with it. 

* * *

 

“This would be your room,” Ms. Paint informed her guest. “I had it prepared for you. You look exactly the size you were. You have suits and dresses in the closet. That there is a minibar. Cigarettes and cigar in the drawer. Means of self defense in the chest. If you get hungry sneak to the kitchen. Don’t be shy. There’s pie.” 

“You spoil me. Why don’t you stay for a while? Or are you… expected elsewhere?” Snowman sat on the bed, crossing her legs. Nice, long legs whose surface she liked to polish.

 

“No it’s totally fine! My husband wants you to feel welcome. He says you are quite an unexpected quest. Against the odds I think were his words.”

 “I don’t feel that way at all,” Snowman objected. “Do you feel like exchanging experiences?” this came with a sly smile. Ms. Paint giggled. “Good to have you here, Snowman,” she said. They sat down on the bed.

Hours later snowman laid the empty bottle of expensive wine on the side table. God, this had felt good. Still did. Ms. Paint was also drunk, her pastel little bonnet was tilted to one side, her everyday skirt – the pastel patchwork, this woman sure loved colors – had risen alarmingly when she had lifted her one leg onto the bed.

Ms. Paint had an extraordinarily lively carapace. It had a moderate glow like milk.

Snowman laid a hand on her knee as she sat beside her. “You set yourself in danger, you are such,” her voice hushed into a whisper into the white carapace’s ear, “a treat, cutie pie”, she flirted. Ms. Paint giggled and ran her fingers along her black cheek, and then they were running down her neck.

Snowman didn’t resist, she stretched herself and accidentally let out a moan. Oops. It wasn’t what she had planned to do. Not much of this was what she had planned to do. Seducing old friends and old friends’ wives – be it the kind of friends who have been part in your downfall – wasn’t her brew. Good old fashioned revenge? Maybe. Not the kind where oh god Ms. Paint was about to kiss her.

When they were undoing each other’s clothes, Slick walked in. Just like that the guy walked in on them, while neither of them were smart enough to lock the door for privacy in the late hour. He had a tray topped with several knives and several different plates for a tasting menu. He stood at the door for several seconds, the girls straightened up in the bed, tugging at their clothes to look decent. “Oaight,” he said, “should I just leave this here, ladies.” She pushed empty wine bottles aside with the tray while setting it down. The girls were still sitting stiffly on the bed. “I am sorry for disturbing, mind if I stay?” he said, sitting frowning between the girls.

The awkward silence lasted a moment. Then Spades flew up on his feet in a second and yelled so that the fresh baby blue paint scattered from the ceiling:

“And mind if I know what happens to my wife, in my own house?”

He tore snowman up; she stumbled drunkenly but stood up as tall as her host. She slapped her arm free and snapped: “Oh yeah? Let me hear who speaks; somebody who deserves peace and prosperity and got a mason through lawful and honest actions?”

“The mason happened to be passed down to me! It is my legacy!”

“By your definitions, I’m sure, the same way destroying the lives of your friends was a honorable deed!”

“That’s what it boils down to then,” Spades gnarled. “You seek revenge and you assaulted my wife. I am going to rip your head off.”

He leaped towards Snowman, who ducked, and both fell on the floor. Furiously, they engaged in a passionate kiss and groping action. Ms. Paint tapped his body around. He didn’t seem to even notice. She walked to the sidetable, confiscated the knives and hid them in the chest. She hid the key in a vase.

Snowman had gained upper hand and pinned Slick down. He huffed, getting momentum to get to top her again. Ms. Paint’s voice rang in the room. “If you will excuse me for a tiny moment,” she said cheerily, “I will just squeeze here in the middle…”

She straightened her ankle; the delicate joint separated the two bodies. The wrestlers froze. Slick saw the calf very close to his face. It was like a porcelain statue with its artfully crafted edge. Like trying out if water was cold, ms. Paint slipped her body between them graciously, while the others gave way. She was sitting on Slick’s chest, Snowman’s hand around her legs still pinning down Slick, but her grasp wouldn’t have kept him down by itself.

“You two need austispicm!”

“Oh hell,” Spades murmured. Ms. Paint bent down to kiss him. As always, a kiss between them was soft, starting like a butterfly’s touch, deepening in waves.

Slick felt the weight of the two ladies. Ms. Paint had started to emit feromones that worked on his body. He shifted uncomfortably and groaned, half for discomfort, half for desire. He realized he had been audible, when both ladies smirked at him, Snowman’s chin resting on Ms. Paint’s shoulder. He cursed under his breath.

Snowman lifted Ms. Paint’s arms leading them to lay on Slick’s wrists. Ms. Paint’s genuine smile met the other lady’s devilish grin.

Snowman opened her star-patterned bath robe, revealing her chest. Ms. Paint moved out of the way of Slick’s gaze, locking his arms against floor above his head. Her own view, too, significantly improved. Snowman rose threateningly sexy above her kismesis. She was flawless to watch. Her breasts were petite, stomach flat, with a curve around the wider hips.

Snowman rested her nails against Slicks’s pelvis. Her chest descended towards his lower tummy, rubbing it, and she opened her arms to let feromones flow from her armits as well into the groin. And the groin received. A little hill emerged from the smooth surface, Snowman’s head lowered, and she employed her lips, tongue and teeth to raise the bulge to all its glory.

Spades’s sigh was mixed with a stream of curses. Ms. Paint hussed him, which made him change the rest of them into mild pejoratives mid-pronunciation. Snowman giggled. Ms. Paint smiled tactfully.

Her touch looked easy, but his grip was iron. Slick tried it. He wondered how much of his shackles were psychological. They definitely partly were. He would have given his mason an half of his victory trophies to get to carry on with the situation. He would give them all so that the girls would not have known. He silenced an in-head voice telling him they certainly knew.

Snowman tilted her head to adore her handiwork and Spades’s breathtaking bulge. Its tip was citinous and smooth as his carapace. The shaft consisted of interlocking rings, leaking natural lubricant from between the seams. She ran her nail along the surface. It gave a rattling noise. A tiny drop of black oily fluid escaped a hole in the tip. Snowman licked it away. The bulge nudged.

Unhurriedly she shifted sitting up, her robe flowing down her shoulders and revealing her arms. Snowman pulled off the bathrobe, showing off her chest more or less unconciously, and set the clothing to a side. The eyes of the others were hungry on her body. She looked at them, narrow eyes challenging, and laid her hands both on Slicks’s bulge. He breathed out, sharply.

She ran a finger down her neck, like an exotic dancer, across her breast, down her tummy. She fingered her lower torso, using Slick’s manly fluid, to make a slit appear. The carapace around it turned into a soft hill. She smiled an shook slowly her head, torturing the spectators; her fingers spread to reveal a magical button and beneath it an opening. Slick felt like he could faint.

“Sweetheart”, Slick said.

“Yes darling?” Ms. Paint inquired.

“Snowman seems to be getting along. What say about you shift forward a little?” he said, with the gentle firm tone he had always used in relations with her. Slick felt like he needed to always assume the role of a guardian of the weaker sex. Ms. Paint, the most awesome housewife in the history of housewives, had always played along, wishing to please. She let out a happy exclamation, but wanted to know whether freeing the gentleman’s hands would be the best idea in the situation. Slick assured her the only thing his arms were ambitious about was the pleasure of the lady. “Ha!” said Snowman. Slick changed it to “the ladies”. Ms. Paint took his word. And sat atop his face.

Slick drew down the lace rimmed knickers. Ms. Paint’s dress formed a multicolored tent around his face. He lifted his hands to rub around the generous legs and butt. Instant opening of the tender flower happened, when Ms. Paint’s nether parts were in touch with Slicks’s mouth and fingers. It happened always. It was typical to long lasting, stable relationships – instant knowledge of the real stuff – but it had always been a part of what was between this couple. Ms. Paint sounded pleased. Slick heard her less than restrained moans muffle, when Snowman leaned forward. His carapacian bulge ached for release at the thought of the gilrs kissing. He tongued his wife.

Snowman took a grip of Slick’s bulge again. She rubbed the bumpy shaft across her soft hills and against her clit, which drew out of her the first audible sound of pleasure in this game she had dominated. She made up for it by continuing to rub him against herself longer than she had originally meant. This made Slick curse and lick rougher and pinch his woman’s legs and butt which, in return, made her moan faster and in a higher tone. Her sounds electrified them all. Snowman dragged down Ms. Paint’s dress to her waist and squeezed Ms. Paint’s porcelain chest, sensitive but hard surfaced, while holding the bulge with the other hand and sitting down on it with furious force.

Everybody yelped in unison.

Slick thrust up, giving out occasional grunts. Snowman breathed heavily, her hips moving acrobatically on top of Slick, who directed his arousal to please Ms. Paint. Ms. Paint didn’t hold it back. She yapped, moaned, sighed and screamed in turns whenever she wasn’t kissing Snowman hastily and hot, stroking her body wherever she could reach.

Ms. Paint came first. She took Snowman’s hands in her sweaty ones, their fingers crossed tightly. Slick held her hips in place. Her gap flashed open and closed while her curvy body bound back. She let out a broken cry. It made the others’ bodies give in. Snowman’s procreational cavity wiggled a few times, squeezing out Slick’s fluids. Slick closed his eyes, bear hugged Ms. Paint’s hips and came, cursing. Snowman fell down against Ms. Paint’s body.

They caught their breaths. Finally, Slick coughed. “Would it be too much asked to get some air? Perhaps less weight on top of my central body?”

"You," Snowman panted, "do not deserve air. Well at least you would need to let her go first."

Slick’s limp arms fell from Ms. Paint’s waist. Snowman stood up, helping Ms. Paint get on her knees in the process. She sat down on floor, next to Spades and looked up to Snowman, who decided to accompany them.

"Technically," Spades said, "that was rape, Snowman. I could hold you accountable."

Ms. Paint took his hand.

"I am sorry," Snowman said, genuinely. "If that is anything."

"You have plenty of time to make up for it while you sit," Slick held a dramatic pause, "here as our guest for as long as you want."


End file.
